I was gonna punch his number and address into my contact list when I realized something with quite a bit of embarrassment. We've chatted for about a year and we've already met once but I have no idea what his name is. So I messaged him.
"So... My body knows you. And each of my five senses can describe you. From the dense forest of your forearms to the scratch of your beard to the soft scent of soap when I nuzzle your lap, from that booming baritone voice that needs no artificial amplification to that delicate taste when we kiss. I can probably even trace your silhouette blindfolded. Couple that with our conversations and I can even paint a distinct picture of you through time: mind, body, soul. I know you, but my mind hasn't pulled all that identity and packaged it together in a name..."
Like Michaelangelo's muse, his name is David.
6 comments:
I have been there, too many times...what a graceful way of asking!
Aw, thanks! I was just trying to cover up the fact that I was careless in that one respect but also wanted to show that I'm fully present in our exchanges. And in doing so kinda hit me that knowing a person's name is rather arbitrary to knowing a person's identity but we still try to condense all that into a syllable or two.
Your writing is so beautiful. Just like you.
BTW Although I miss your great writing, I love this new short format.
Thanks bud! Been much easier to manage. A lot longer than the micro blogs of Twitter yet not so long that it becomes a chore. :-)
Damn Bruce! Your writing is exquisite! It's no wonder you charm the pants off of other men.
Aw, shucks. Thanks!
Now if only my worlds alone could actually strip men of their clothes. That's a neat superpower!
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